


Kinktober 2: Electric Boogaloo (Kinktober 2019)

by popatochisp



Series: Kinktober [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Affection, Alcohol, Alluded to, Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Aphrodisiacs, Bad Things Don't Happen, Biting, Blood, Body Image, Body Worship, Boundaries, Caretaking, Collars, Communication, Consent Issues, Dirty Jokes, Distension, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fantastic, First Time, Firsts, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Flustered Sans (Undertale), Frottage, Gags, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Humor, Invasion of Privacy, Kinktober 2019, Leashes, Love, M/M, Marking, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Muzzles, Nervousness, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obedience, One-Sided Nudity, Oral Sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Retroactive Consent, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scent Kink, Seduction, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Shibari, Size Difference, Size Kink, Suspension, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), There's A Tag For That, Trust, Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, Wax Play, Weddings, at first, holy shit, implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2020-11-22 13:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: Want to sex up a skeleton...again? Sure you do! Come back on in and let's get boning!-Prompt fills for Kinktober 2019, will contain the following AUs: UT classic, US, UF, SF, and HTIf you like your kink with a side of feels, you're in the right place!





	1. Safe and Warm (SF!Papyrus/Reader, Wax Play)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 1:** <s>Ass worship</s> | <s>Spanking</s> | _Wax Play_
> 
> **Pairing:** SF!Papyrus/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Communication, love, trust, slight (discussed and consented to) pain

You hold the candle steady.

Its flickering flame is its own kind of beautiful, but you only watch it for a moment, your attention…decidedly elsewhere.

Slowly, you tip it, carefully spilling the wax.

“ghhk…!”

Papyrus _chokes_ below you, his whole skull tightening in a grimace as the hot liquid splatters onto his bare ribs.

You straighten the candle immediately.

“Baby, are you okay?” you ask.

He takes a second to answer, which worries you.

“…m’fine,” he says eventually, but his voice is still tight with pain and you’re not convinced.

_‘better me than you,’_ he’d said, when he brought this up. _‘no skin to burn, y’know?’_

But ‘no skin’ didn’t mean ‘no pain,’ and Papyrus is the last skeleton you’d ever want to _really_ hurt.

“Are you sure, ‘Rus?”

The offer is implicit: that you’ll stop if it’s too much, you won’t be angry or upset…but if anything, it’s _Papyrus_ who looks upset.

“no, no, really,” he protests, sitting up a little. “m’okay, i-i am, just keep…_do_ something, i want it!”

You still hesitate.

You _always_ do in moments like these, even with Papyrus’ explicit consent.

You know his history… at least some of it.

You know he used to give himself freely to many, seeking touch to fill a void—_any_ kind of touch—from people who didn’t respect his boundaries as wholly as you did; who enjoyed his pain more than his pleasure and who took more than they ever gave back.

That’s not you.

It will _never_ be you.

Papyrus must see something, in your eyes, because his expression goes soft, his little purple pupils dilating enough to be seen in the dark.

_“really,”_ he insists again, harder. “green light, angel, i promise. i love you.”

…

_That_, you believe.

You let your eyes fall to Papyrus’ chest, drips of wax running all down his ribs from where you’d poured it. It’s cooled a little in the minute or so since you’d paused, semi-solid lines of color streaking across his stark-white bones.

It’s beautiful.

You reach out, pressing your fingertips into the mess along his clavicle.

The wax is still hot, but not painfully so. When you rub, your fingers drag the color _and_ the heat along with them, and Papyrus…

Papyrus _moans_, falling back onto his elbows at the new sensation.

You can actually _see_ the shiver running up his spine, the sigh that shudders through his exposed rib-cage, the tell-tale violet glow starting up just a _little_ further south…

_…Oh,_ you think, waxy warmth on your fingers and a thrill in your chest. _**There’s** the pleasure._

“…You want more?”

“yeah,” Papyrus groans, “yes, yes, _please…”_

You don’t think have it in you to deny him.

To deny _either_ of you.

You get on top of him, firmly straddling his hips and savoring the dazed yet adoring look he gives you.

“Brace yourself,” you say with a smile…

And you tip the candle sideways again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .<s>I warned you I was going to title it this, I warned you and not one of you even tried to stop me...</s>
> 
> Welp... I'm already behind, but at least I'm on the board now, welcome to Kinktober 2019! If you're new around here, this first chapter should probably tell you everything you need to know about much I love portraying positive relationships, so if you're looking for something a little filthier, a little more PWP...
> 
> Sorry. XD


	2. Nasty (UT!Sans/Reader, Voyeurism)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 2:** _Voyeurism_ | <s>Rimming</s> | <s>Body Swap</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** UT!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Violation of privacy, consent issues (retroactively, enthusiastically given), body worship, masturbation, implied scent kink, Sans being a gross goblin-man in general

Sans couldn’t say why, exactly, he’d decided to take a nap in your laundry pile.

You were picking up bad habits from him, maybe—the miniature mountain of discarded shirts and sweaters was accumulating higher than you’d ever let it before, and then you’d thrown a winter blanket it was too hot for now over the top of it, and it’d looked…

Soft?

Cozy…

<s>Like it would probably _smell_ like you…</s>

It certainly wasn’t the _weirdest_ place he’d ever napped in.

So, at the time, he really…hadn’t seen the harm in just burrowing right in for a quick twenty minute nap, in and out before you got back home and came up to your room.

…He hadn’t counted on your wrinkly old t-shirts being so _comfortable,_ though.

You were already back, the loud ‘thunk’ of your door closing behind you is the thing that finally wakes him, and now he’s in—to say the least of it—a very awkward position.

_no prob, though,_ he thinks, watching you walk over to your bed through a sliver of a gap in the pile. _couch’s just a shortcut away, easy to…_

_…to…_

Sans is…really slacking, accounting for variables today.

He hadn’t counted on you starting to _undress_, right in front of him.

Oblivious to his presence, you’re peeling off your shirt and blindly tossing it atop the pile, revealing the whole expanse of your bare back.

That’s…that’s a _lot_ of skin, more of you than he’s _ever_ seen at once.

……He should go.

You’re toeing off your shoes and socks now, reaching for the button of your jeans.

You have _no_ idea he’s here, what you’re _doing_ with him just a few feet away, and that’s _awful_, Sans shouldn’t _be_ here still.

You pop your fly and unzip your pants, pulling them down over the curve of your ass.

It’s _incredible_…and it’s _horrible_ that Sans can’t tear his eye-lights away, or make his body move so much as an inch.

The underwear follows in short order, joining the jeans on the floor, and your _body_ is…

_fuck…_

You’re so hot.

You’re _so_ hot and Sans can’t stop his magic from manifesting, a tongue in his mouth and a cock in his shorts because just _looking_ at you—your back, your legs, your _ass_— is enough to make him ready to act.

He wouldn’t.

He’d never just…fling himself at your poor, unsuspecting self, like a mindless, horny animal, he’s better than _that_…

But probably not by much, because he’s also carefully reaching down, rubbing himself through his shorts while you parade your wonderfully naked body around your room.

You look _so_ good that even just the half-turn that gives him a _glimpse_ of your chest is enough to get Sans’ soul thrumming hard.

You traipse out of sight for a second and Sans couldn’t possibly follow you without craning his neck, damningly.

It reminds him that he’s not supposed to be here, that he’s watching you without your permission, _touching_ himself to you…

He feels the guilt… but _far_ more, he feels the _excitement_: the thrill of secrecy, the filthiness of jerking off, _hiding in your laundry_, the _beautiful_ payoff of finally getting to see you without clothes, something he’d only _imagined_ getting to do for _so_ long…

“…Where…?”

Sans stills, hearing your murmur off in the corner.

You come back into view, still naked and still _perfect_, and nothing in the universe can prepare Sans for what you do next.

Right there…_right_ in front of him…

You kneel down, on all fours, hips shimmying a little as you try to reach for something under your bed.

Sans can see…_everything._

_oh, stars **above…!**_

Sans’ eye-sockets slam shut, that scorchingly _hot_ image burned into his thoughts, and quieter than he’s ever been in his _life,_ he comes in his pants, like a horny teenager.

He doesn’t move an inch, not even to tremble. His magic silently dissipates and he takes deep, quiet breaths through his nose, not making one single sound.

…which is probably why he startles so badly when you speak again.

“Enjoy the show, Sans?”

Sans…freezes.

Were you…? Did you…?

Apparently yes, because you march over to the laundry pile, flinging off the blanket on top and looking _right_ at him.

“…h…how’d you know?” he asks weakly, hoping <s>he hasn’t screwed everything up</s> that you’re not…_too_ mad.

“Dude,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “Your dick _lights up_. It’s _kinda_ the most obvious boner ever.”

Sans winces, feeling his cheekbones heat a little.

Stars, he can’t _believe_…

_Why_ did he…?!

But then…slowly… the pieces start to fall into place.

What you’re telling him is…

You knew he was there.

You _knew_ he was there, from the _minute_ he got hard and…

You _still_ got down on your knees in front of him and _wiggled your ass in his face_.

“you—!”

Sans doesn’t finish his sentence, cut off as you shove your way into the laundry pile with him and start tugging off his shorts.

“Bring it back, you gremlin,” you chide, a smug little smirk on your face. “You had all the fun with it—now it’s _my_ turn.”

“………oh. _fuck.”_

There’s a whole lot of things today that Sans completely failed to account for.

As you pounce on him, rolling him onto his back in a mountain of dirty clothes…

He thinks he’s perfectly okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sans, probably:** yes good, here is the best place to nap. 
> 
> **You:** *wander in, start undressing* 
> 
> **Sans:** ........okay actually here is the best place to jerk off as quietly as possible, i think, that sounds right.
> 
> For the purposes of this chapter, both parties have been pining like idiots for months, probably. This is definitely not a 'first time' story to tell the folks. XD


	3. Big Surprises (HT!Sans/Reader, Distension)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 3:** <s>Tentacles</s> | _Distension_ | <s>Knife Play</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** HT!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Communication, praise, size kink, size difference, light body worship

“ohh…oh, _fuck…”_

Your thoughts _exactly_ as Sans slowly pushes into you for the first time.

Even with all the preparation you’d done, it’s a _tight_ fit, an almost _painful_ stretch the likes of which you’ve never felt before.

But you knew what you were getting into when you wooed a giant skeleton.

When your lover, already faintly trembling from the effort of staying still, hopefully asks, “all…all good?” you only have one answer to give him.

_“Yes…!”_

Sans doesn’t need to be told twice.

He bends, draping himself over you as he starts to move. His pace is slow and steady, rocking you with every deep, _deep_ thrust and making you feel every last _inch._

It’s incredible.

Caged beneath Sans’ thick, sturdy bones, his broken skull nuzzling absently at your neck, you feel surrounded by him, immersed in him, _full_ of him in all the best ways and it’s getting you hotter by the second.

“mmn…oh stars,” Sans huffs in your ear, breathless. “you’re…you’re so _good_, i……i can’t…”

_Find the words?_

You, either.

All you know right now is the pleasure, the heat, the _fullness,_ moving so deep inside you with every push that you _swore_ you could feel it all the way into your stomach.

Thoughtlessly, you reach down, touching your own flesh, and…

………

You still as your mind goes blank, refusing for a moment to process what you’re feeling beneath your fingertips.

Sans notices your silence (almost) immediately, slowing down but obviously reluctant to stop.

“wh…what’s wrong?”

You don’t know how to explain.

You’re not sure you could speak at _all_ right now, the way your brain suddenly feels like an overloaded circuit, bursting and sparking and _melting_ in your head, useless.

Almost blindly, you grope against the sheets for Sans’ hand.

Confused, he lets you take it, guiding his big fingers down to your abdomen and holding them there.

“…babe,” he starts to say, “what’re y—………”

He stops talking.

Good— he’s noticed it, too.

The bulge of _his own cock_ inside you, pushing _out_ from your belly.

Sans remains speechless for all of a few seconds.

And then, “w…i-i don’t……are you _okay?_ m’i hurtin’ ya’?” A tiny edge of panic starts to creep into his voice at the thought. “i…i can make it smaller, if…if it’s…?”

_“No,”_ you groan emphatically, finding your voice. “I love it, don’t you _dare!”_

It doesn’t hurt: Sans is too _gentle_ for it to hurt, too sweet and careful and loving for it to be anything but _amazing_ that he’s _so big_ inside you that you can feel him from the outside, too.

You want more.

Sans pulls out of you instead.

You nearly whine in disappointment at the sudden emptiness. “What are you doing? I said I—oof!”

Without warning, you’re flipped over, the mattress hitting your back with a quiet little ‘whoomph.’

Sans looms over you silently, his giant red eye-light staring at your bare body—a terrifying position to be in, if you didn’t know what a sweetheart this man was; if you didn’t already trust him completely, heart and soul.

He grasps at one of your thighs, pulling it up and exposing your entrance, still wet and gaping.

And then, he starts to push back into you, his glowing gaze _locked_ on your stomach.

You moan loudly, toes curling as he fills you up again, and sure enough, there it is: the faint outline of his cock, pushing up through your belly.

It surprises you a little, how incredibly _hot_ that is to see.

You think Sans might feel the same, because after a few seconds to process it, he’s settling his free hand right over the bulge…and starting to move again.

“you’re amazing,” he groans, his hips rocking against yours. “s’crazy, you’re…_fuck_, nngh… you’re perfect, i _love_ you…”

Your thoughts _exactly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's November. The Kinktober train does not stop simply because the month is over, we have no need of things like 'time' or 'deadlines' here.
> 
> Anyway, size difference is almost as much my jam as fluffy relationships, so hope you enjoyed some of this big, soft Horror boy~


	4. Samson and Delilah (UT!Sans/Reader, Gags)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 4:** _Gags_ | <s>Cunnilingus</s> | <s>Daddy</s> | <s>Fisting</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** UT!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Implied self-esteem issues, praise, flustering

Sans had a very big mouth.

Occasionally, this was a very big problem.

He’d be the first to admit it, too: it was the curse of being so quick on the draw with a joke or a pun or a quip that sometimes, one spilled out of his mouth faster than he could stop it; faster than he could realize he maybe shouldn’t have said it.

He supposes _that’s_ probably why you asked if he’d be okay with ‘a little experiment’ and why you’re sitting in front of him now, with a thick leather muzzle-gag in your hands.

Sans laughs, <s>nervously</s> awkwardly.

“eheheheh…my, uh…my jokes are _that_ bad, huh?”

“Fishing for compliments, funnybones?” you wonder, a glint of humor in your eyes.

“not _reel_y,” he replies. “but…if you got any, feel free to let _minnow.”_

That wins a genuine chuckle out of you, and Sans relaxes a little.

“You’re hilarious,” you promise him. “I love your jokes. I just…wanna try something. _Without_ jokes.”

Well…that didn’t sound so bad.

And you weren’t trying to tie him up, so if he didn’t like…whatever ‘something’ was, he could just…take it off.

Easy enough.

“…okay. ‘no jokes’ sounds a little _boring,_ but…whatever, you’re the boss.”

Sans takes the muzzle from your hands and puts it up to his skull, turning a bit to let you fasten it.

He can’t deny that he’s curious as hell to find out what kind of kinky shit you have planned, even as you pull the straps of the gag tight, immobilizing his jaw completely.

“Try to say something for me,” you ask and, trying to be a good sport, Sans gives it a shot.

“mpphhm.”

Nope, nothing: he could make all the sound he wanted, but without being able to part his teeth, it wouldn’t make a lick of sense.

Your grin turns sharp and excited—wolfish—and Sans feels a little shiver down his spine at the look.

_“Perfect.”_

You all but tackle him down and Sans does his best to brace himself for some wild stuff.

What he does _not_ expect…is for you to just…start kissing and petting him, the way you always did when you were feeling frisky.

Nothing different, nothing kinky…

_not that i oughta be complaining,_ he thinks with a mental shrug.

Fooling around with you is _always_ fun, whether you get especially freaky or not, and Sans is happy to participate to the best of his ability—with wandering hands and little hums of satisfaction whenever you did something nice.

“Mmm, _that’s_ my handsome funnybones,” you breathe against his vertebrae.

The response is instinctive, automatic: _oh yeah, i’m drop-**dead** gorgeous._

Except.

Nothing comes out.

Through the gag, it’s just incoherent noise.

You pull back a little, smiling knowingly.

“That was a joke, wasn’t it?” You playfully reach up, tapping at his muzzle with one finger. “Not tonight. You’re not playing _anything_ off this time.”

Sans is…a little confused, still not realizing the true brilliance of your plan.

At least, not until you keep talking.

“You never let me tell you right, you know,” you say, pulling off his hoodie. “How smart you are…”

Sans feels his cheekbones start to heat a little, glowing with magic.

_who, me? i’m just a **bone**head._

“…and kind…”

He fidgets a little, beneath your touch.

_well, that’s **humerus**…_

“…and brave.”

His skull is officially glowing like a lantern now.

_you’re kiddin’, right? thought everybody knew i didn’t have any **guts**…_

None of these quips come out, of course, totally stymied by the gag.

Leaving your sweet, genuine words ringing in his lack of ears, totally unchallenged.

_………oh._

You…

You’re _evil._

“Don’t give me that look, baby,” you chuckle, your hands finding their way up under his shirt. _“Somebody’s_ gotta tell you you’re amazing without you joking it off—might as well be me.”

Here, Sans thought he was in for a nice, kinky time, and instead, you put a muzzle on him just to shower him with compliments he can’t talk his way out of.

_Evil._

He huffs a forceful breath out through his nasal cavity, trying to show you what he thinks of this.

“What’s that? You want me to tell you how much I love you, too? Okaaaay,” you say, dipping back down to kiss at his collarbone some more. “It’s a _lot_, but if you’ve got nowhere else to be…”

Sans…could escape; could shortcut right out from under you and free his mouth and then _immediately_ use it to laugh off your sweet, affectionate, embarrassing words.

Or.

He could stay—just…lie back and take it while you do your damnedest to fluster him to death.

Your fingers dance along the curve of his ribs, a delightfully pleasant feeling that makes him shudder, just a little.

_…hell._

You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?

Sans isn’t going anywhere.

And you couldn’t look any smugger if you _tried._

“hhfrghm,” he tells you, quite scathingly in his own opinion.

You just smile against his clavicle.

“I know, I love you, too. You make me so happy, all the time…”

Sans’ nonexistent stomach does a flip.

Ah, he is _so_ screwed.

_might as well try to enjoy the ride…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To explain the title: Sans is a Samson-esque figure when it comes to compliments, except instead of hair his power comes from jokes. Nigh unflusterable, but if you take away his silver tongue, he is doomed...<s>to actually have to try and accept a nice thing said about him, the horror...!</s>
> 
> The gremlin deserves some genuine compliments, though, he's just gonna have to deal. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. The Best (US!Papyrus/Reader, Frotting)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 5:** <s>Bondage</s> | _Frotting_ | <s>69</s> | <s>Vibrator</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** US!Papyrus/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Clothed sex, light caretaking

Papyrus is always more perceptive than you expect him to be.

Something about his general vibe as a…a lazy, lanky, chilled out _dude_ just put the expectation in your head—self-absorbed, uninvested, that ‘it’s whatever’ kind of casual with a special knack for making everyone else feel unimportant and unseen.

You’re dating the guy, of course, because that expectation is the absolute _furthest_ thing from the truth.

Papyrus always notices, always cares, _always_ tries to do things to help or make you happy, and you love him for that.

All it takes him is one good look at you and he’s empathetically inquiring, “bad day, hon?”

He’s so attentive, the _best_ bonefriend…

…but to be _perfectly_ fair, ‘bad day’ is not a hard conclusion to reach when one is lying face-down on the floor and surreptitiously trying out a few breathing exercises.

Still, since it has, indeed, been a bad day, your only response is a wordless groan.

You trust your perceptive skeleton to figure it out.

You feel Papyrus watching you a moment, probably weighing his options.

He doesn’t take long to decide.

In short order, Papyrus is coming down to join you on the floor, gently rolling you onto your side to pull you in for a proper spooning.

His body is warm and the sleeves of his hoodie are soft where they wrap around you, brushing against your skin, and you find yourself relaxing almost immediately.

“How’d you know?” you sigh, snuggling back into him.

“well, obviously you’re upset. gotta be because you missed me since, y’know, you’re madly in love with me—”

“Hahaha, shut up!”

“so clearly, the only way to free you from your dark prison of passion—”

“Pffft, what the fuck—”

“—is to give you whatever you want, ‘cause i love you, too.”

“……Okay, that’s sweet. You got me.”

“sure do.”

Papyrus gives you a little squeeze and you can’t help but smile.

The floor is cold and hard, but Papyrus’ bony body is warm and soft and after awhile, you even start to find yourself dozing off a little in his embrace.

…Until.

“Papyrus.”

“hmm?”

“I thought we were _cuddling.”_

“we are,” Papyrus says, bemused.

“Then why are you _humping_ me?” you demand.

Papyrus doesn’t even the decency to _stop_ his slow rocking against your backside, a very unconventional sort of _bone_ becoming more and more apparent.

“feels nice,” is his only answer, not even a little ashamed of himself. “why? not nice for you?”

It’s…well, it’s not _bad_, but that’s not really…

“ah hang on, i can fix that.”

Papyrus moves, rolling you over onto your back and settling himself above you, between your legs.

His hips press down on yours, rubbing carefully, insistently, and you can feel yourself responding to the friction.

Even with clothing in the way, the line of Papyrus’ cock is prominent, making itself known against your most sensitive areas, sparking arousal in your belly with every lazy little rub.

“how’s that?” Papyrus asks, with the confidence of someone who already knows the answer. “better?”

_Much_ better.

But, “Shouldn’t we…move? Or…or, uh…”

You’re…distracted, suddenly; can’t quite articulate your thoughts that maybe you should be doing this somewhere _else_, more secluded than the living room floor, or at _least_ with fewer clothes on.

In lieu of saying so, you reach down, intending to unzip Papyrus’ shorts, or your own pants, whatever you reach first, but Papyrus catches your hand.

“nah, don’t worry about it,” he says. He takes your other hand, too, and presses them both down above your head, holding them with his own. “don’t worry about _anything_, i just wanna make you feel good…”

“Mmm…” It…it _does_ feel good, better by the second. “But…”

“you had a rough day,” Papyrus practically purrs at you, dipping down to nuzzle at your cheek. “just relax, let me take care of you.”

A tempting offer, and one that only gets better with the next words out of his mouth.

“don’t even worry about the mess, alright? i’ll do laundry tonight.”

Fuck…

_Fuck,_ that’s hot.

You give in, lacing your fingers with Papyrus’ and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“You win,” you tell him. “Do your worst.”

“nyeheheheheh…not a _chance_…”

Only the _best_ for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, there's a lot more versions of this kink than you'd think there are-- there's 'frottage' for any kind of rubbing, 'frot' for specifically man-on-man rubbing, and 'frotteurism' for people who do it non-consensually (like train gropers and such).
> 
> The things that end up in your internet history when you do Kinktober, smh...


	6. Faith and Trussed (US!Sans/Reader, Suspension)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 6:** <s>Blow Jobs</s> | _Suspension_ | <s>Masks</s> | <s>Flogging</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** US!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Bondage, shibari, helplessness, one-sided nudity, safety

“…I feel like a turkey.”

Sans laughs from behind you.

“HEHEHEH, WELL, IF IT HELPS, YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE ONE,” he assures you. “BUT I’D BE HAPPY TO _GOBBLE_ YOU UP JUST THE SAME.”

That wins a giggle out of you, helping you to relax a little bit.

With your cheek against the floor, your forearms bound together behind your back, and Sans dutifully knotting your ankles to your thighs, you’ll take the reassurance wherever you can get it.

“Have, uh…” 

Stars, you feel silly for asking, especially _now_ that you’ve already agreed, are already trussed up and ready to go.

But Sans made you promise; made you _swear_ to a ‘NO SECRETS IN THE BEDROOM’ rule, and something in your gut is telling you that this is one of those things he wants you to say out loud.

“Have you done this before…?”

“WITH A PARTNER? NO,” Sans admits. “BUT I’VE DONE MY RESEARCH!”

You feel his gloved hands stroking along the ropes crisscrossed all over your body, checking the tension and positioning for…you’re not sure what.

“I’D NEVER PUT YOU AT RISK IF I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT I WAS DOING. I’VE READ ALL THE TUTORIALS AND PRACTICED MY KNOTS AND EVERYTHING. I EVEN ATTENDED A DEMONSTRATION WITH A PROFESSIONAL! SHE WAS KIND ENOUGH TO LEND ME HER SUB TO PRACTICE WITH AFTERWARD.”

You frown.

“…_‘Practice’_ with?”

“…OH! OH, NOT LIKE _THAT!”_ Sans exclaims, aghast. “IT WAS FULLY CLOTHED, ALL OF IT! I JUST WANTED TO GET MY ROPEWORK CRITIQUED BY AN EXPERT BEFORE TRYING IT ON YOU! IT CAN BE DANGEROUS TO DO THIS UNSAFELY, YOU KNOW.”

Well, _that_ makes you feel better.

“So…what was the verdict?”

“THE BEST KNOTS SHE’D EVER _SEEN_ FROM A BEGINNER,” Sans boasts, and you can _hear_ the pride in his voice even without being able to see his face. “MY ONLY NOTES WERE TO START SMALL AND KEEP YOU TALKING, SINCE YOU’RE NEW TO THIS.”

Right—that’s why you’re to mention any pain and numbness _immediately_, and why for this first time, you’re barely leaving the ground at all.

……

But you _are_ leaving the ground.

Totally immobilized, arms and legs useless to catch yourself if something goes wrong…

You bite your lip.

“I, uh…I’m a little nervous…”

“THAT’S OKAY.” Sans leans over you, reaching up to pet at your hair. “YOU REMEMBER THE SAFEWORDS?”

“‘Yellow’ for slow down, ‘red’ for stop,” you duly answer.

“GOOD. DO YOU TRUST ME?”

Oh…

Well, _that_ was a no-brainer.

“Of course I do.”

“THEN, YOU’LL BE JUST FINE. I WON’T LET YOU FALL…AND IF YOU GET SCARED ANYWAY, WE CAN JUST STOP!”

“Really? That easy?”

_“KNOT_ A PROBLEM.”

“………”

“HEHEHEH, SORRY, I’M A_FRAYED_ I MIGHT BE _TYING_ YOUR PATIENCE A BIT.” Sans’ hand settles gently on the curve of your rear, his thumb stroking you. “ARE YOU READY TO START?”

You take a breath.

You’re…you’re still a little nervous…

But you do trust Sans.

He won’t let you fall.

“I’m ready.”

Sans pulls back from where he’s knelt down beside you, off where you can’t see him.

Even knowing it’s coming, you _still_ gasp at the first pull of the ropes around your body, stomach swooping as you’re hoisted up off the ground.

It’s a strange feeling to defy gravity. Your limbs flex in your bindings, instinctively trying to reach for something, to brace yourself _just_ in case…

But nothing happens.

Sans’ ropes hold tight, keeping you in place and keeping you _up,_ dangling just a few feet above the floor.

The skeleton in question walks back over to you, his eye-lights roving over your body.

Something about being completely unable to move under that intent gaze makes it feel all the more intense; all the more heightened.

“STARS ABOVE,” Sans murmurs, reaching out to you. His gloved fingers brush against your chest and make a slow trail downward, tracing idle patterns on your belly. “YOU…LOOK INCREDIBLE LIKE THIS. HOW DO YOU FEEL?”

You say the first things that come to mind.

“Exposed. Uh…underdressed,” because Sans still had all _his_ clothes on, standing there before you, touching your helpless, naked body.

You wriggle a little in the ropes again, testing their give.

“…still a little bit like a turkey.”

That makes Sans laugh again.

“ANYTHING HURTING?” he wonders, stepping even more into your space.

“Uh…no,” you say, “no, I…I don’t think so…”

The ropes are not the first thing on your mind anymore.

Not with Sans’ fingers drifting _very_ south, between your bound and spread legs.

“THAT’S GOOD. ONLY _GOOD_ FEELINGS TONIGHT…”

Between that eager grin on his skull, the blazing intensity of those bright eye-lights…

You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.

You shiver, startled by a powerful pulse of arousal at the thought.

With no other recourse, with nothing else to hold onto (figuratively _and_ literally), you leave yourself in Sans’ hands.

You _know_ he won’t let you fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safety first when you're trying out anything intense! Suspension bondage especially is important to be careful with, blood circulation and potential nerve damage is nothing to sneeze at.
> 
> Luckily, a certain Swap boy is very thorough and careful <s>and an ultra-dom who is _thrilled_ to have so much of his partner's trust that they're willing to try this with him.</s> ;3


	7. Bad Decisions Supreme Man (UF!Sans/Reader, Aphrodisiacs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 7:** <s>Leather</s> | <s>Scent</s> | <s>Forniphilia</s> | _Aphrodisiacs_
> 
> **Pairing:** UF!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Non-consensual drugging (no involved parties), alcohol (mentioned), miscommunication/misunderstandings, love and concern

Sans misses his shortcut.

Not an _un_common occurrence, most especially when he’s had a few—like tonight—but…

Still, slamming his elbow into the corner of your dresser and hissing out an instinctive ‘ah, fuck’ was really _not_ the entrance he’d been hoping to make.

It sure spooks _you,_ that’s for damn sure.

You were probably half-asleep before that judging by the way you shoot right up and flick on the light, looking all mussed and confused and panicked…

You breathe a sigh of relief as soon as you realize it’s only him.

_“Stars,_ Sans,” you grumble. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“sorry,” he says, and he is, a little, but mostly…

Mostly, he’s just _really_ glad to see you.

“Well! What the hell?!” you demand to know, sitting up in bed. “I thought you were going out tonight…”

“yeah…yeah, i, uh. …i _was_ out,” he agrees.

Grillby’s was as it always was, even with the man himself out for the week on business—good booze, great burgers, and a crowd that only _sometimes_ tried to kill him over his shitty jokes.

You loved the place just a _little_ less than he did and hadn’t minded him going on ahead tonight while you stayed in.

God_damn_, he loves you…

So he went.

And stuff happened.

<s>Without somebody behind the bar, looking out for him…</s>

But you didn’t need to know about that, really.

So, “now m’here,” is all he tells you.

Really…he probably should’ve known better.

You’re a smart cookie and you know him, you know his _habits_, and all it takes is one look at the clock to get the gears turning in your head.

You _know_ it’s too early for him to call it a night, except if…

“Is…something wrong?”

_ah hell…_

Just what he _didn’t_ want—you worrying—so he shakes his head.

“nah, nah,” he says, even though talking is starting to feel hard to do; even though there’s a hot little buzz zinging through his bones, making thinking difficult when you’re _right there, so close._ “m’fine, i—………”

Sans’ jaw clicks shut as you slide out from under your covers, swinging your feet over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor.

“Something’s wrong,” you’re saying, decisively, and Sans _really_ would correct you, except…

Except the sight of you standing there, in nothing but your rumpled pajamas has struck him totally dumb.

He can’t look away from you, actually _can’t_, his eye-lights roving freely over your body because you’re so _hot_—_ludicrously_ hot—and you _always_ are, but now especially…

You’re stoking that little spark in his bones into a full-on _fire_ and he can hardly _stand_ it.

You’re coming closer, right into his reach, and Sans can’t quite _stop_ himself from grabbing you, claws curling around your arms.

You could be closer.

Sans would very much _like_ for you to be closer.

But you’re also saying something and he belatedly realizes he should probably be paying attention to that.

“…ck, Sans, you’re burning _up,_ are you okay?”

Aw…you sound worried.

_that’s cute…_

But there’s nothing to worry about, and with you so tantalizingly close, _almost_ in his arms, he can’t really remember why he was lying to you.

“m’fine,” he assures you, leaning in towards your neck. “somebody slipped me somethin’, s’no big deal…”

“What?!”

You pull away.

Sans is not too pleased with this turn of events.

He tightens his grip on you, tugging you into his chest before you can run off to your nightstand, _away_ from him.

“Sans!” you exclaim, exasperated and maybe a little upset. “Let go of me! I gotta—my _phone!”_

“get it later,” Sans absolutely does _not_ whine.

“‘Later’ isn’t gonna do much good when you’re poisoned to death!”

“what???” It takes Sans a second to realize your misunderstanding. “heheheh, aw jeez, sweetheart… no, it…it ain’t that kinda thing.”

“You said somebody slipped you something!”

“yeah, not _poison.”_ Sans starts to pet you a little, hoping to calm you down. “s’just a little, uh…love-drug.”

Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god, you got _roofied?!”_

Too late, it occurs to Sans how that particular euphemism could’ve backfired.

“wh—no, it ain’t…it’s not—”

“Who was it?” you demand.

“i dunno,” Sans admits, “prolly just…somebody lookin’ to score—”

“By _roofie-ing_ you!” You sound so _outraged_ on his behalf, and it would really be adorable if it wasn’t distracting from a _very_ pressing issue. “Were you not watching your drink?”

Sans makes a face.

“no, i wasn’t watchin’ my—”

“That’s Rule One, Sans!” you exclaim. “Baby, don’t _ever_ leave your drink unattended! That’s dangerous!”

Oh stars, if Sans had wanted a safety lecture about not being stupid, he’d have gone home to his _brother._

“yer overreactin,’” he tries to tell you. “m’_fine_, it’s just—”

He cuts off as you grab him by the skull, peering at his face.

“You’re not fine, look at your _pupils_, holy shit, I can’t believe somebody _roofied_ you, what the—”

“stop sayin’ ‘roofied’! it wasn’t a roofie!” Sans plants a hand on your lower back, pulling you flush up against him. “my _head_ ain’t the problem here!”

Which is true.

Aside from a shot or two of whiskey, Sans’ skull is perfectly clear and (mostly) sober.

It’s his persistent _erection_ he’s more concerned about right now, and how incredibly, sinfully _good_ it feels pressed up against your hip.

You obviously feel it, too, and it makes you pause long enough to try and process what he’s been telling you.

“…So when you said ‘love-drug’…you _meant_ ‘aphrodisiac.’”

“yeah.”

“Not a roofie.”

“no.”

“You’re just…really horny.”

“yep.”

“And…this is a booty call.”

“…sounds a little crass when ya’ put it like that, but…”

You sigh.

“Sans,” you say, very seriously. “You are gonna _get_ it for scaring the hell out of me like, three times in a row.”

He intends to say ‘sorry.’

He really does.

Except…

You’re taking off your shirt now, exposing so much wonderful, enticing _skin_ and Sans’ tampered-with magic flares anew in excitement.

“You’re lucky I love you, you horny idiot,” Sans thinks you say.

If he wasn’t so busy scooping you up and pressing you down onto your bed, he’d probably agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the title...
> 
> **Reader:** Oh yeah, I'm totally into BDSM, I'm dating him.
> 
> **Anyone:** What???
> 
> **Reader:** The Bad Decisions Supreme Man, he's my bonefriend.
> 
> **Anyone:** .........
> 
> Maybe someday, Sans will learn to be careful about his own safety. In the meantime... at least he's got somebody who's concerned _for_ him! XD


	8. Patience is a Virtue (HT!Papyrus/Reader, Tights)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 8:** <s>Oviposition</s> | <s>Creampie</s> | _Tights_ | <s>Sadism</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** HT!Papyrus/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Unresolved sexual tension, respect of boundaries, crushes/pining

“I’m Not Sure What You Expect _Me_ To Do,” Papyrus protests as you drag him off to the most secluded area you can find.

He probably shouldn’t be complaining—the feeling of your cute little hand pulling at his is delightfully endearing, and _any_ time he gets to spend with you alone, one-on-one is…

………

Well!

In any case!

Papyrus is certain he’d enjoy it a lot more if you weren’t also so upset!

“I need your eyes!” you say, before realizing your error. “Eye-_sockets_, whatever! Just…I _know_ they ripped, I can feel it, but I can’t… Oh, will you just look?!”

And, with no further preamble, you turn around, bend over, and ruck up your skirt.

If Papyrus were human, he thinks his mouth would go _very_ dry.

He can see your tights, pulled sheer and shiny over the curve of your ass. You’re wearing underwear, at least, but that’s cute, too, and…

And if Papyrus were anything less than a perfect professional, he would be _very_ distracted right about now.

“Do you see it?” you ask.

“I Do,” Papyrus says, spying the little tear you’d been so concerned about. “…Not Very _Well_, Though.”

He kneels down, reaching out to your leg and only remembering his manners at the very last second.

“May I?”

“Huh? Oh! Uh, yeah, sure…”

Permission granted, Papyrus carefully grasps your thigh.

The tights are…_no_ barrier at all.

Your skin is _warm_ where his phalanges brush carefully against it, parting your legs wider to get a better look at…

At the tear in your tights.

Because Papyrus is a _professional_ who sees all _manner_ of human bodies in _every_ conceivable state of undress and there is _no_ reason that yours ought to be any different.

He inspects the ripped nylon.

“It Certainly _Is_ A Sizeable Tear,” Papyrus murmurs. “It Shouldn’t Show, Under Your Skirt, But…”

“You think it’ll run?”

You shift your footing, the muscles of your legs flexing, and the rip does just that, widening and exposing another inch of your <s>gorgeous</s> bare skin.

“Yes, I…I Think It Will.”

You groan, sounding upset, probably because these were _brand new_, and Papyrus reacts thoughtlessly, just wanting to comfort you.

He squeezes your leg, lightly stroking his thumb along the soft, bared skin of your inner-thigh.

It’s not until you shiver, going abruptly quiet, that he realizes the intimacy of the gesture—knelt down behind you, your skirt pulled up, his fingers mere _inches_ away from…

_…Oh Stars._

Papyrus thinks you may be thinking the same thing, because you straighten and pull your clothes back down over your rear in the same moment he snatches his hand away and stands back up.

Your face even looks as hot as his skull _feels._

“I, uh…thanks,” you say, avoiding his eye-sockets. “I…should probably go…take these off, I guess…”

Papyrus straightens his glasses.

(They haven’t moved, they’re _taped to his skull_ and you both know that.)

(He prays you won’t draw attention to it.)

“Yes, Probably,” he agrees. And then, in case he said that too quickly, “Before They…Er…Rip…More?”

_**Terrifically** Awkward, **Great** Job, Papyrus!_

Sometimes, this budding, unspoken _thing_ between you is downright _torturous_.

Now especially is one of those times, as you slowly start to shuffle off to where the bathrooms are, a flustered expression on your cute face that he would love nothing more than to nuzzle right off of you…

But you’re not ready yet; not yet willing to tackle these feelings head-on and just see what happens.

You turn back after only a few steps, your face still flushed.

“Will……will you wait for me?” you ask of him, and Papyrus smiles.

Whether you mean while you’re in the bathroom taking off your ruined tights or something else entirely…

His answer is the same.

“Of Course! I’ll Be Right Here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This day gave me a lot of trouble, I scrapped at least two other ideas before finally finding something that passed the vibe check...
> 
> Anyway, while the Reader in this one is wearing tights and a skirt, I'm keeping with the gender-neutral, physically undescribed theme, so they can be whatever you want them to be! ;3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Good Boy (SF!Papyrus/Reader, Pet Play)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 9:** _Pet Play_ | <s>Scissoring</s> | <s>Costumes</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** SF!Papyrus/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Obedience, oral sex, d/s dynamics

Papyrus sits at attention as you walk into the room.

No…

You _saunter_ in, cloaked in easy confidence and little else—a _feast_ for his <s>lack of</s> eyes.

He stays put, though, just like you told him to.

You smile.

He _loves_ to please you.

He wants to do it more.

You come over to where he’s bent down, on hands and knees, just watching him.

Papyrus shivers, anticipating another order, a sharp command, more _praise_…

But first, you’d said ‘stay,’ so he stays.

“Good boy,” you purr after a moment, and his soul _thrums_ in his chest at the words. “Now, sit pretty.”

Papyrus doesn’t hesitate.

He rises just a little, sitting back on his heels with his hands up like paws.

_“Very_ good.”

A thrill of excitement rushes through him when he sees the leash in your hands—if he actually _had_ a tail, he’d be wagging it by now, and the chuckle you suddenly let out means you probably know that, too.

Papyrus raises his chin for you as you reach for the collar around his neck—not the leather one, loosely buckled and resting atop his clavicle, but the silk one snugged tight around his vertebrae—the one _you_ gave him.

The dopey grin on his face only fades when you clip the leash on and give it a good _tug._

And then, there’s an entirely _different_ dopey look on his face.

Dropping back to the floor, Papyrus pads after you, on all fours.

You don’t go far, just over to a nearby chair, and he waits <s>eagerly</s> patiently as you situate yourself in it, legs spread _wide._

Your hand reaches for his face, gently cupping his jaw.

Your thumb strokes so lovingly along his cheekbone that for a second, his eye-sockets fall shut and he can’t quite _help_ but push into your palm.

He knows you’re playing right now…but it’s hard _not_ to get distracted when he loves you so much; when he _knows_, just by the way you touch him, that it’s very much mutual.

You tap at his mandible with two fingers, twice in quick succession.

“Open,” you tell him, reinforcing the wordless order.

Papyrus opens his mouth.

Instead of being pleased with him, though, you ‘tsk,’ looking…disapproving.

The dismay that strikes him is sharp and cold.

Had he not obeyed you quickly enough? Did you want something else? What had he done_ wrong?_

It’s a struggle to hold back a (very appropriate) whine until you take pity on him.

“Where’s your tongue, pet?” you ask him sternly.

The relief is instant.

A _tongue_—he can do that for you, _easily_; can’t _believe_ he forgot in the first place…

Except…maybe he can.

You _are_ very distracting.

Especially now, when he’s kneeling between your spread legs with your hands holding his leash.

Papyrus’ magic gathers in his mouth, forming a tongue _exactly_ how he knows you like it: long and lolling, slick and dexterous.

Your answering grin is sharp, _painfully_ sexy, and Papyrus really does not think he could _get_ much harder.

(He hopes you’ll touch him later, once your pleasure is attended to.)

(He knows he’ll have to be an _extra_ good boy to earn _that.)_

_“That’s_ better,” you say, and then you pull sharply on the leash, bringing his skull even closer to you. “Now…lick.”

Papyrus does.

The taste of your flesh is sweeter and more addictive than _anything_ he’s ever known. It’s a genuine pleasure to lap at you, dragging and flicking and _curling_ his conjured tongue in all the ways that make you hum and sigh and _gasp._

You just lean back in your chair, relaxing as you luxuriate in the sensation he gives you…

But it’s _your_ hand his leash is wrapped around; _your_ fingers that skim over the curve of his skull, petting lightly and pushing him deeper into the apex of your thighs…

_Your_ voice, saying those wonderful words Papyrus never tires of hearing.

“A-ah…mmn…_good_ boy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SF!Papyrus is the goodest boi-- you think I'm gonna do a Kinktober and _not_ give him the chance to prove it? ;3


	10. Unless...? (UT!Sans/Reader, Face Sitting)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 10:** _Face Sitting_ | <s>Toys</s> | <s>Hate Fucking</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** UT!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** None

It starts with a joke.

You arrive at Grillby’s a little late one evening and Sans does an exaggerated double-take when he sees you.

“oh stars above,” he breathes, as if aghast, _“where_ are my manners… please, take a load off, sit down, i’ll clean your seat off for ya.”

So saying, he removes a handkerchief from the pocket of his hoodie…

…and uses it to wipe his face.

You laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” you tell him, plopping yourself up onto a barstool. “How long were you carrying that thing around, waiting to tell that joke?”

“hours,” Sans replies, his expression serious. “i don’t do guesswork, my comedic timing is always perfect. never question it again.”

“Haha okay, _sor_ry!” Still… “Never heard you work blue before—you running out of clean material or what?”

“heheheh aw c’mon,” Sans chuckles, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “m’just kiddin’ around. …unless…?”

Your eyes widen.

…And Sans practically _guffaws_ at you for it.

“nah, nah,” he assures, “just tryin’ to _rattle_ ya’… now c’mon, what’re ya’ havin’? i’ll put it on my tab.”

So…the evening continues normally, and…that’s that.

Just a joke.

Except…

You can’t _quite_ get it off your mind.

“Wait,” you end up saying to Sans, just a few days later. “So do skeletons actually…”

Much as you can’t make yourself say the embarrassing words, your skeleton friend is sharp enough to infer them anyway.

“go to the _bone_-zone?”

You give him a flat look.

“heheheheh, sorry,” he says, not sounding it at all. “yeah, sure, why not.”

………You actually can’t tell if he’s messing with you or not.

Deciding to err on the side of taking him seriously, you wonder, “How, though?”

“however you want.”

You give him another Look, but he insists.

“really, we’re monsters. we’re _magic_, anything we don’t already got, we can make it—sky’s the limit.”

And…

Right about there is where you make your fatal error.

“Prove it,” you demand.

Sans’ ever-present grin widens, and for a split second, you expect another crude joke or innuendo; some comment about ‘not even buyin’ him a drink first,’ maybe.

You do _not_ expect Sans to open his mouth, revealing what is unmistakably a tongue—bright blue and glowing, but very much _there_.

And very much…

_Well._

You’re grateful that the next thing Sans does is bring a hand up to his mouth, mimicking a _fantastically_ lewd act that could be performed with his tongue and your genitalia, because it gives you an excuse to shove at his shoulder and call him ‘gross’ while you both laugh it off and change the subject.

But it’s too late.

Because if the question of whether or not skeletons were sexually capable had lingered in your mind, the knowledge of ‘yes, they are,’ outright _haunts_ you.

You can’t stop thinking about it.

_What if you’d taken Sans up on that offer?_

Your imagination supplies a vivid answer: kneeling, settling yourself down over his skull while that tongue—that _fucking_ tongue—laved over your most sensitive places…

Would he be thorough, phalanges digging into your thighs as he drove up into you as _deep_ as he could go?

Would he tease you, tonguing _slow_ and lazy and skimming past every spot you _wanted_ him to keep licking?

And what did a _magic_ tongue feel like: hot? Tingly? _Electric?_

Would a magic _cock_ feel the same?

Would there _be_ a cock?

_sky’s the limit,_ Sans had said, and that is just _far_ too much power for your fantasies.

You last one more <s>incredibly horny</s> week.

“Hey,” you say to Sans, the next time you’re alone together.

He looks over at you from where he’s sprawled out on his bare mattress, skull hanging upside down over the edge.

“whassup?”

_“Were_ you kidding?”

Sans doesn’t even ask you to clarify.

“not if you didn’t want me to be.”

“So…if I said I was…interested…”

Sans doesn’t even bat an eye-socket.

“i’d say it’s about time. i was startin’ to doubt my powers of seduction over here.”

You frown at him.

“You were _not_ intentionally trying to seduce me.”

“i totally was.”

_“Shut_ up.”

“no, for real, i thought you were just miraculously immune to my charm, but hey,” he winks at you, still upside down. “happy to be wrong.”

No.

You refuse to believe it.

So you repeat your fatal error.

“Prove it.”

Sans’ grin takes a turn for the shit-eating.

And from his pocket, he procures _that same stupid handkerchief_ that started all of this.

“i _never_ ditch a prop before m’done with it,” he tells you, with hilariously incongruous gravity. “i was hopin’ you’d change your mind.”

…This son of a bitch.

This gross bastard _gremlin_ of a skeleton, so _smugly_ sure of himself that he’s actually ‘wiping off your seat’ again, shooting you another wink with that glowing blue tongue of his poking out playfully from between his teeth…!

You cannot _believe_ you’re about to sit on his face!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this chapter almost contained the phrase 'all according to keikaku' but I edited it out, you're welcome.
> 
> Another fun fact, each of the ten multiverse skeletons I write for only get three chapters each in this, to keep things even, so Sans Classic is signing off for this Kinktober-- but we've got plenty of other skeles to have fun with going forward! ;3
> 
> Also, Reader in this one like, "I cannot believe I'm going to sleep with him." "You don't _have_ to?" "No, I'm gonna."
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. All Dressed Up (UF!Sans/Reader, Formal Wear)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 11:** <s>Mirror Sex</s> | _Formal Wear_ | <s>Vore</s>
> 
> **Pairing:** UF!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Body image issues, semi-public sex, blowjobs

The ceremony was real nice so far.

…All things considered.

Sans didn’t know that ‘Hello Kitty Meets Vampire Metal’ would be _his_ first choice for a wedding theme, but hey—the brides seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough.

Alphys, positively _glowing_ in her frilly black and red dress, is leading her father out to the dance floor and her new wife in full dress uniform is doing the same with Asgore himself…

Truly, it’s enough to make Sans’ _teeth_ ache.

“Hey, babe…?”

And then there’s the brightest spot of the whole day.

His plus-one.

His partner.

_You._

……You, who are looking at him with a pleading, hopeful gaze and…

_oh no._

You don’t wanna _dance,_ do you?

Sans grimaces at the thought.

“uhhh…i, uh…i ain’t really much of a _hoofer,_ sweetheart…” he reluctantly admits, thinking he really didn’t want to test that in these shitty, shiny dress shoes in front of everybody he knows.

And besides…

Over your shoulder, he can see Undyne tighten her grip on the Emperor, enough leverage for the _brutal_ suplex she executes to slam him headfirst into the floor.

You turn to look yourself at the shattering sound of the tiles, eyes wide.

“this, uh…this might not be the _safest_ dance floor for ya’, i’m thinkin’…”

“Huh?” You turn back to him, looking a little bewildered. “No, I don’t… That’s not—it’s my keys!”

Sans frowns.

“yer keys,” he echoes. “what about ‘em?”

“I can’t _find_ them,” you explain. “I think I must’ve dropped them somewhere…probably when I went to the bathroom. I’m gonna go look for them, could you come with?”

“oh,” says Sans. And then, “yeah, alright, _that_ i can do.”

Papyrus’ speech as the Best Skeleton had been great and all—had even made the rowdier bride cry and attempt to noogie the speaker simultaneously—but it’d also been long as _hell_ and frankly, this little errand would be a nice excuse to get up off his ass for a bit.

Sans stands when you do, trailing at your heels as you both quietly leave the festivities behind.

The noise of the party fades away the deeper you venture into the unused parts of the venue. That, too, is a nice reprieve, as is the opportunity to…

Well, no point in sugarcoating it—Sans is ogling you, just a little.

He knows he probably ought to be looking around on the floor as you walk, on alert to catch a glimpse of your errant keys wherever they’d fallen, but _you…_

You look _amazing_, dressed up all fancy like you are, your nice clothes the best possible wrapper for the eye-candy that is you.

_He’s_ sure as shit been staring and figures he can’t possibly be alone in that; probably plenty of guests here today, jealous to see a stunner like you on his arm, or just jealous _of_ you.

If Sans were a pettier sort of guy, he might even fall into the latter category himself.

He knows that even as gussied up as he _gets_—shower, suit, and tie, the whole nine—he doesn’t look anywhere _near_ as good as you do. More minutes than he’d care to admit to had been wasted this morning just sorta…glaring at the bathroom mirror, dissatisfied with the way the fancy starched fabric hung on his bones, making him look…

Well.

The curse of having broad shoulders and a real wide-set rib cage, he supposed, plus nowhere _near_ enough leg to balance it out.

Sans had pretty much put it out of his mind as soon as he’d seen you in _your_ getup and had just resolved to spend the day trying not to futz with his tie too much.

The _last_ thing he needed was to look even dumpier standing next to a total knockout like—

You grab at Sans, carelessly catching his tie and _yanking_ sharply.

He stumbles after you even as he chokes in surprise, letting you drag him into the bathroom and slam him up against the door.

“what th—!”

Your mouth crashes into his, a punishingly _sudden_ kiss, and Sans has no recourse but to kiss you back, confused as anything.

Confused but _not_ protesting, of course.

Sans’ claws find your hips as you fervently press your lips to his teeth over and over, like you’ve been waiting all _day_ to do it.

He’s not even sure what part of him bothers to breathlessly wheeze out, “what about—” but your reply is swift.

A flourishing jingle of shiny metal: your keys, that you obviously had all along.

“I never lost my keys,” you tell him on a pause. “This was never about keys, I just wanted to get you _away_ somewhere.”

Your hands start to wander, sliding down his chest, and while he really could do without an answer, Sans still finds himself asking, “why???”

Your musical laugh, an unintentional reward.

“You haven’t noticed?” you ask him on a chuckle. “I’ve been staring at you all _day,_ you big idiot. How the hell do you clean up so nice?”

In one rough tug, your insistent hands pull open his suit jacket and you _glare_.

_“Suspenders,”_ you hiss, like it’s a curse word. “What the _fuck_, you’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Sans has no response to this accusation.

…which is just as well, apparently, because you don’t wait for one, dropping down to your knees on the bathroom floor and staring up at him.

“Give me something to work with,” you all but order him, fumbling with his fly.

Sans, aroused pretty much from the moment his back hit the door and you looked at him with those intense, _hungry_ eyes, assures you, “not gonna be a problem, _fuck…”_

The swears keep coming as you free his dick and close your lips around the head. Your tongue laving over his magic is just too much to turn down, hot and wet and _sinfully_ perfect.

As Sans lays a hand on top of your head, losing himself to the pleasure of your licking and sucking he can only think one thing.

Maybe he oughta don the ol’ monkey-suit more often, if _this_ is what it brought out of you…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately upon returning to the party, probably...
> 
> Papyrus: DID YOU TWO HAVE FUN?
> 
> Sans: ......wh--
> 
> Papyrus: 'GOING TO FIND THEIR KEYS' _MY COCCYX._
> 
> Sans: i! didn't _know they were gonna--_
> 
> Papyrus: A LIKELY STORY!
> 
> Reader: :3c


	12. More Than You Can Chew (SF!Sans/Reader, Biting)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Day 12:** <s>Lingerie</s> | <s>Crossdressing</s> | _Biting_
> 
> **Pairing:** SF!Sans/Reader
> 
> **Additional Kinks:** Seduction, marking, blood (safe, sane, and consensual)

It’s a normal afternoon.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and your partner is relaxing for once, just reading on his phone while you rinse out a few mugs in the sink.

Sweet.

Domestic.

Idyllic.

And then, he says it.

“I THINK WE SHOULD NEGOTIATE BITING RULES.”

You nearly drop the cup in your hands.

_“What?”_ you blurt out, turning to face him.

“WE HAVEN’T DISCUSSED IT YET,” Sans explains casually. “WE SHOULD PROBABLY SORT OUT THE BOUNDARIES BEFORE JUST…DIVING IN, NO MATTER _HOW_ MUCH IT EXCITES YOU.”

“………”

You chuckle a little, because it’s…_absurd,_ just a strange, absurd thing to say and you don’t know what _you’re_ supposed to say in response.

Sans visibly stills at your reaction, though, and suddenly, he’s looking at you—_looking_ in that way he did sometimes, like he was trying to see through you, right into your head.

He blinks.

“…OH.”

And then a big, broad smile slowly curls its way onto his skull.

“YOU DIDN’T _KNOW.”_

You laugh again.

As much as Sans is usually right on the mark with stuff like this, you can’t even _figure_ what sort of wires he got crossed to be making _this_ little sense.

“Know what?” you ask, returning to the cups in the sink. “That you think I have some kinda…secret _thing_ for—”

_“MY TEETH?”_

You freeze in place.

The words are…_very_ close, all of a sudden.

There’s heat at your back, hands on your arms, and _teeth _on your neck, just barely grazing against you.

“YES,” Sans murmurs at your throat. “I _DO_ THINK YOU HAVE A ‘THING’ FOR THEM.”

His breath is warm and makes you shiver, and the low register of his voice raises prickles on your skin.

Or…maybe that’s the feather-light drag of sharp, pointed fangs against you with every word he speaks, slow and purposeful and…

_Enticing._

“I THINK THIS EXCITES YOU,” he surmises. “I THINK THAT YOU’D LIKE TO EXPERIMENT WITH THIS. AND, I THINK—”

You gasp as he _nips_ you at the end of the word, too well-timed to be an accident, and the mug you’re holding slips from your fingers and clatters into the sink.

“—THAT _I_ WOULD LIKE THAT, TOO. _VERY_ MUCH.”

You’re feeling…decidedly heated, at the moment, warmth in your cheeks and your chest and heading _rapidly_ south.

“I…”

“YES, DEAR…?”

Sans sounds _disgustingly_ smug with the reaction he’s caused, and it’s a testament to how hard this little realization is hitting you that you aren’t even annoyed.

“I…think…” you say slowly, keeping your words straight, “that some…negotiation…may be…in order. Yes.”

Sans’ grin widens—you feel it intimately, pressed into the curve of your throat—and in the blink of an eye, you’re being whirled around and nudged backwards.

Right onto Sans’ bed.

You welcome him as he climbs on top of you, returning every fervent kiss he presses to your lips and every eager touch, rub, and stroke of hands along your body.

“Mmn, the, the usual safewords…?” you ask breathlessly by the time your clothes are gone, and Sans agrees.

“I’LL BE GENTLE,” he purrs. “…UNTIL YOU TELL ME NOT TO.”

Sans’ skull dips down to your chest, nuzzling just as gently as he promised.

His claws caress you, sliding down to your hips where they settle and _hold_—keeping you from squirming too much when he opens his mouth and starts to bite.

Though maybe ‘bite’ isn’t the right word…not for the light, skimming, _teasing_ scrapes of his pointed teeth against your skin, _agonizingly_ faint nibbles that only give you goosebumps.

Goosebumps and an urge for _more._

You press on Sans’ shoulders, trying to get his attention.

You groan, arching your back when instead of looking at you, he just tugs carefully at one of your nipples, taking his sweet time to make eye-contact.

“MMM, _YES_, MY LOVE?” he eventually asks.

Your face feels _especially_ warm at that… but it’s not the _only_ part of you that’s feeling hot, so you say it:

“Do…do it harder…”

Sans is happy to oblige.

His bear-trap teeth _lock_ onto your shoulder without hesitation, closing over the curve of your flesh and biting down with sure, steady pressure.

The pain of those sharp points digging into you leaves you breathless for a moment, not _quite_ hard enough to break your skin, but you _know_ there’ll be a mark there when your skeleton is done with you.

Somehow that just gets your heart going even _harder_ behind your ribs and a moan just slips right out of you.

Sans takes your encouragement and slowly begins to move down your body, leaving sore imprints of his teeth all over you: your neck, your chest, your hip, and your _leg_…

His claws curl around your knees, parting them easily and hooking one up over his shoulder, starting to nuzzle at your inner-thigh.

You react, helplessly, your body responding on instinct to the sight of Sans between your legs, and without any conscious thought…

_“Harder.”_

The swift, sharp _bite_ that Sans lays on the meat of your thigh makes you _yelp._

It stings, and the sight of your own blood startles you, even as green magic starts to flow from the glowing purple tongue laving tenderly over your rapidly vanishing wound.

And he’s looking at you.

He’s making _direct_ eye-contact with you, as he _carefully_ drags his tongue along your thigh and laps up every drop of blood before it can even stain the mattress.

There’s mischief in his bright eye-lights and _red_ all over his pearly white teeth and…

And you don’t know if you’ve ever been more turned on in your _life._

“No…no marks,” you huff out, trying to at least sound chastising. “…Nothing _permanent…”_

………

_Yet._

Sans looks at you, in that way he did sometimes.

He smiles.

“YES, DEAR…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I finish Kinktober 2019 before October 2020? No.
> 
> Will I finish it eventually? Yes!
> 
> Also, alas poor Reader, sometimes a kink just catches you by surprise... 😩
> 
> Thanks for being patient and hope you liked the chapter! ;3


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